Jeannie's Heroes
by All-things
Summary: Jeannie blinks Roger in the past during WWII and now Tony must go back in time to save him.  Meanwhile, Roger meets a band of Heroes.
1. Chapter 1

Jeannie's Heroes

Summary: Jeannie blinks Roger in the past during WWII and now Tony must go back in time to save him. Meanwhile, Roger meets a band of Heroes. Hogan's Heroes/I Dream of Jeannie crossover.

Author's Note: This story takes place during the fifth and final season of I Dream of Jeannie and the second season of Hogan's Heroes. It's also in answer to a challenge by Sayla, called, 'A Very Jeannie Dream'. I hope you enjoy.

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Chapter One

"Hoooooo?" Roger Healy yelled as he walked through the front door of his best friend's house. He and Anthony Nelson were astronauts who worked at NASA together, so Roger often came by to give Tony a ride to work.

Roger closed the door behind him just as Tony's wife, Jeannie, popped out of nowhere, causing him to jump a little.

"Hello, Major Healy. Anthony is in the shower right now. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?" she asked him with a bright smile on her face.

"I would love a cup of coffee," he replied while he took off his green Army cap.

She held out her hands and blinked. A cup of steaming, hot coffee appeared in her hands and she handed it to him. "Here you go."

_Being a genie sure has its advantages, _thought Roger as he took a sip of his coffee.

They walked into the dining room and sat down at the table.

"You know, Major Healy, I watched the most interesting movie last night. It was about this man who he fell in love with this French girl, but the girl fell in love with another man. But the other man pretended to love her and that made the first man very angry. So while they were on a mission, the other man died and the first man lost his arm. But in the end, he found the girl and they got married. Oh, it was so nice, except for the parts with other man."

Roger looked at her in surprise for a moment. "That-that doesn't sound like the type of movie you would watch," he commented.

"Oh, well, I was bored waiting for Anthony to get home."

"Oh. You mentioned that the two men were on a mission, what-what kind of a mission?"

"Well, I'm not sure. But I remember that it was during the Second Great War."

"The second great war?"

"Oh, you know, the one with Winston and Franklin fighting Adolf."

Realization dawned. "Oh, you mean World War Two, with the Nazis and stuff."

"That is what I said. Winston was so funny and Franklin was so nice. But I did not like Adolf," she leaned in closer to Roger and lowered her voice. "I think that he didn't have all of his camels in line."

"Camels?" Roger asked, not quite getting her meaning.

"You know." She brought her hand up to her head and twirled her finger around her ear.

"Oh, you mean that he was crazy. Yeah, a lot of other people think that too."

"Really? Then why did they do what he said?" she asked innocently.

Roger thought a moment. "I don't know," he answered.

There was a moment of silence as Roger drank some more of his coffee. "You know, Jeannie, I remember my dad telling me stories about when he was an airman during WWII. When I was younger, I would always pretend that I was my dad flying above Germany shooting down enemy planes. Those were the days. You didn't have to worry about anything. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and relive those days."

As he reminisced about his childhood life, he didn't see the cunning grin form on Jeannie's face.

"Major Healy, do you really wish that?" she asked him.

"Of course, I do. Who won't want to go back to no responsibility, no work, and nothing but playing all day?"

"Okay, than you shall have your wish!" she said excitedly.

"Oh! Now, wait a minute—" but he was too late. She had already folded her arms and blinked.

The next thing he knew, he sitting in the pilot's seat of a plane. "Jeannie!" he yelled. Out of habit, he quickly grabbed the plane's yoke.

"Jeannie? Who's Jeannie? You okay, Colonel?"

Roger looked to his right and saw a man sitting in the co-pilot's seat looking at him quizzically.

"Uh, Jeannie? Wh-who said anything about Jeannie?" Roger quickly stuttered.

The man gave him strange look and then turned back to looking out the windshield.

Roger did the same. He tried not to panic. This didn't look like anything from his childhood. Where was he? Fear began to build up again. He swallowed hard. Jeannie had done worse things to him before and he had always found a way out. This was no different. While he tried to stay calm, he looked around the cockpit. The plane looked new but was outdated, _way_ outdated. Judging by the size, he realized that it must be a bomber plane of some kind. Very few other types of planes had two pilots, and Roger very much doubted that he was on a commercial aircraft of any kind. Now taking all that into play, along with what he and Jeannie were talking about, and the fact that the guy next to him had spoken to him in English, Roger deduced that he was in an American bomber somewhere in WWII.

"Approaching destination. Get ready fellas," the co-pilot said.

"Wha-what destination?" Roger asked.

"Hamelburg, sir. Colonel, are you sure you're alright?" Then the man took a good look at Roger, "Hey, wait, the Colonel didn't have blue eyes. Who are you?" Before Roger could respond, the man whipped out a gun and pointed it at him.

Roger let go of the yoke and raised his hands. "Major Roger Healy! I'm a pilot at NASA!"

"What? There's no such as NASA. You better start telling me the truth or I'll put a bullet through your skull!"

Then, suddenly, the plane shook. "Blast! They're shooting at us!" the co-pilot shouted. The plane shook again, this time knocking the gun out of the man's hand.

By that time, Roger had taken the yoke again and began flying them to safety. It was an old plane, but the basics of flying hadn't changed much over the course of years. The co-pilot was too busy to pay much mind to Roger, much to his relief. But no matter how hard they fought; they eventually had lost the battle and had to bail out.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Roger was on the verge of panic. _Boy, when I get back I'm never speaking to Jeannie again!_ he thought angrily.

They were standing by the door, and one by one the men jumped until it was just Roger and the co-pilot left. But when Roger reached for a parachute, the co-pilot snatched it away.

"Hey! I need one of those!" Roger said in horror.

"Nu-ah, I don't know who you are, but you're not coming with us." With that, he jumped out with both parachutes, leaving Roger alone in a steadily descending plane.

Terror lanced through Roger, taking full force as he realized that he was going to die.

He quickly looked around for something to grab hold of and found straps of some kind dangling on the side of the plane. Grabbing on to them tightly, he waited for the end.

It didn't take long for the plane to crash. When it did, everything came apart. There was a deafening roar as the metal frame was torn to pieces.

"Jeannie!" he screamed in desperation. Hoping that maybe, just _maybe_, she would rescue him just in time.

The violent jerk as the airplane hit the ground caused Roger to lose his precious hold and threw him to the front of the plane. Hitting his head soundly, he lost conscious in the midst of chaos.

~I~

"Roger?" Tony called as he walked out of his bedroom fixing his tie. He snatched his jacket off the back of a chair as Jeannie walked over.

"Anthony, what do you wish to have for breakfast?" she asked.

"How 'bout some eggs and sausage? Just like yesterday." Tony wasn't in the mood for an elaborate meal.

Jeannie sighed. "Yes, and the day before yesterday and the day before that…."

Okay, so he wasn't really _ever_ in the mood for an elaborate meal. Maybe an eloquent dinner every now and then, but breakfast was supposed to be simple.

"Oh, Anthony, if you would only let me, I could make you a—" Jeannie started, but Tony interrupted her.

"No, Jeannie, eggs and sausage will do just fine. Where's Roger? I could have sworn I heard him come in only a few minutes ago."

With that, Jeannie gave him a devious smile. "Oh, you do not have to worry about Major Healy. I'm sure he is very happy."

Tony's gut clenched. "Jeannie, what did you do to Roger?"

"Oh, nothing. I just sent him back to the Second Great War to fly a plane."

"_You what?_ You sent Roger back to _World War Two?"_ Tony couldn't believe it. "How could you do that, Jeannie?"

"Well, Major Healy was just telling me how his father would tell him stories about flying a plane in the Second Great War and how he wished that he could do that too, so I thought that…."

"No, no, no, Jeannie. How many times have I told you not to send someone to the past unless there's a valid reason?"

"Well, I thought it was valid."

Tony stopped and counted to five. Five years and he still didn't understand why Jeannie kept doing these things.

"Okay, well, don't do it again. Now, blink him back," he said calmly.

Jeannie just chewed on her fingernail.

"What? Don't tell me you can't him bring back?" Now he was beginning to panic.

"I cannot," was all she said.

"Why not?"

"I do not remember on which plane I blinked him," Jeannie replied, her voice squeaking on the word 'blinked'.

"Great, we have to be to work in half an hour and Roger's stuck somewhere in World War Two, flying a plane over enemy territory! What are we supposed to do _now_?" Tony had begun to pace, worry for his friend driving him to do _something_. Roger was his best friend and if anything happened to him, especially if it was Jeannie's doing, Tony would feel awful. Suddenly he stopped pacing. They were going to find Roger, no matter what. "We're going back to World War Two. Jeannie," he said as he turned to look at his wife. "We're going back to find Roger."

Jeannie nodded, obviously eager to right her wrong. She folded her arms and blinked. An instant later, the house was empty.

~I~

Newkirk was crouched behind a bush watching for German patrols. Carter and LeBeau were making quick work of the railroad ten yards behind him and Kinch was on the other side of the tracks acting as lookout, same as Newkirk. It was quiet, but Newkirk didn't let his guard down. On a night with no moon you couldn't be too careful.

Newkirk chanced a glance back at the railroad tracks. Carter and LeBeau should be almost done, and then they could go back to camp. He briefly wished that he was there now, in his bed sleeping, but pushed the thought to the back of his mind and again focused on keeping his mates safe.

Ten minutes had passed, when Newkirk heard LeBeau give a sharp whistle, signaling him that it was time to go home. Taking one last look around, Newkirk came out from behind the undergrowth that had served as his hiding place, and headed over to where Kinch was keeping guard. Once they were all assembled, they began their trek home where their Colonel was no doubt putting a rut in the floor from all his pacing.

They had just reached a field when Kinch, who was leading the group, stopped.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered to them.

They all listened intently, no one daring to breathe. When one of them thought they had heard something, they all took it seriously. Experience has taught them well.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. No one talked, for fear of missing something. Then they all heard it.

"Planes," Carter said and he was right. The low buzz of airplanes could be heard off in the distance.

"Must be the raid that London warned us about," Kinch commented, "Don't worry; their target is twenty miles east. Let's keep moving." With that, the small group gave it no more thought and began to cross the field.

It wasn't until minutes later, that Newkirk noticed the noise getting louder. He looked up, even though he couldn't see anything. "Kinch, are ya sure 'bout where those planes are 'eadin'?"

"Yeah, why?" Kinch asked, throwing a glance at Newkirk from over his shoulder.

"Well, I think they're gettin' closer."

That caused everyone to stop and listen in silence once again.

"Pierre is right. They _are_ getting closer," LeBeau said from behind Newkirk.

"That can't be right. The munitions factory is that way," Kinch said pointing east, to their left, "They don't fly over us to get there."

"Maybe we should find some cover, just in case," Carter suggested, nervously looking around the open field.

In was just then, that they heard an explosion. Out of instinct, they all ducked. Newkirk looked up again and this time he saw one of the planes; a bomber, judging by its size. Its tail was on fire, and he could see that it was going down. Another thing that Newkirk noticed, with a flare of panic, was that the plane was heading straight for them, and by the expression on the others' faces; he gathered that they had noticed as well. Without a word, they all turned as a collective body and ran as fast as they could out of the way.

They were about three hundred feet away when the plane hit the ground. The sound of screeching metal was deafening as the aircraft skidded across the grassy field before coming to a halt.

The group of spies just stood there looking at the bomber, in shock.

After a few moments, Newkirk spoke. "We should check for survivors."

"Are you joking, _mon ami?_ There is no way someone could survive a crash like that!" LeBeau exclaimed while pointing at the wrecked plane.

"_I_ did," was all Newkirk said in response, as he began to make his way toward the plane.

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A/N: What do you think so far?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here it is, finally. Sorry for the shortness of the chapter. I've been busy and I'm going through something of a writer's block on this story, but I didn't want to make you wait any longer.

Thanks to my beta reader, Deana.

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Chapter 2

They were late, about _three hours_ late.

Hogan hated it when his men were late, because it usually meant that something went wrong; three hours meant something went _very_ wrong. One thing was for sure, with all this worry-pacing that he'd been doing over the course of two years, he's never going to be out of shape…but then he'll also have more grey hairs than he'll know what to do with.

He checked his watch for the umpteenth time that night, 0248. He sighed and resumed his pacing. If they weren't back by 0300, then he was going out to find them. He was making his ten thousandth or so round, when he heard the tree stump pop open and down came his little Frenchman.

"LeBeau! Where have you been? Is everything alright?" Hogan shot a worried glance at the tunnel entrance, hoping to see the others coming down the ladder as well.

"_Oui, Mon Colonenel,_ everything is alright," LeBeau hurriedly replied before running down the tunnel to the exit that led up to the barracks.

Puzzled and even more worried, Hogan looked over at the ladder to find Carter coming down.

"Carter, what's going on?" he demanded.

Carter looked concerned, not a good sign. "We saw a plane crash, sir, and found him in it," he answered while pointing at the ladder where Kinch and Newkirk were carefully carrying down the limp body of a man.

"Who is he?" Hogan asked as he watched his two men maneuver the unconscious man over to the cot in the next room.

"We don't know. I guess we thought it was more important that we get him here, than find out who he was. He's wearing a US uniform and he was in an RAF plane," Carter helpfully supplied.

Hogan nodded and followed his men into the other room. He walked over to Kinch. "What happened?" he asked again.

"Well, we were coming back and heard planes flying over us. Next we know, one of them crashes about a couple hundred feet away. When we checked to see if there were survivors, all we found was him." Kinch looked down at the occupied cot.

"Do you know who he is?" Hogan followed his staff sergeant's gaze.

The man looked about late-twenties, early-thirties, with light brown hair. His burnt and ripped uniform was a hunter green, an odd color for an American pilot's uniform.

Newkirk checked the man's pockets, which produced a wallet. He opened it and read the name, "Major Roger 'Ealey, service number 577D6-FG21, United States Air Force," a pause, then, "NASA?"

"Nasa? What's that?" Carter asked from behind Hogan.

"Let me see," Hogan said with his palm out, waiting for the wallet. He didn't have to wait long, as Newkirk immediately handed it over.

Hogan frowned. "N A S A, NASA. Hmm."

But Hogan didn't have time to say anything else as LeBeau returned with Sgt. Wilson in tow.

While the doctor tended to his patient, Hogan and Kinch went off to the side so they could talk more privately.

"What do you think, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan wrapped his arms around himself in thought. "I don't know. You said that you saw the plane crash, right?"

"Yes, sir. Right into the field we were crossing. I'm amazed that he actually survived the crash."

But even as Kinch said this, he glanced over at Newkirk who was talking to Carter.

Hogan followed his staff sergeant's gaze. The Englishman never talked about when he was captured, not even LeBeau knew much about it. All they knew was that Newkirk had been in the plane when it went down and even then, Hogan had learned that information from Klink.

"I wonder what it was like?" Kinch thought out loud, his dark eyes still trained on the RAF corporal.

"I don't know," Hogan said. He then nodded to the stranger on the cot, "I think we should keep an eye on him. Contact London and ask 'em about this 'NASA'."

"Will do." With that, the sergeant left the room to fulfill his orders.

Hogan turned his attention back to the cot. The others had already gone to change back into their uniforms, so it was just Wilson and Maj. Healey. Hogan was thinking that this Healey guy wasn't the enemy, even if they had never heard of NASA. The Colonel didn't have too big a head to believe that he knew all of the top-secret operations founded by the Allies. Also, the man was shot down in an RAF airplane right before his men's eyes. If that wasn't proof that the major wasn't a German, than what was? Though, when Hogan thought about it, Healey did look like a German, with his light brown hair and distinct nose. Healey wasn't a German name, though, it was Irish, but if he was a Nazi spy, then of course he would have a fake name. All these questions would have to wait until either Kinch got an answer from London or Healey woke up, though.

It was at this time that Sgt. Wilson completed his exam.

"How is he?" Hogan asked the sergeant.

"Well, besides one heck of a concussion and a broken arm, pretty good considering," the camp medic answered.

"Is the concussion serious?"

"No, not really, but we should keep an eye on him. Frankly, it's a miracle that he's alive."

Hogan hummed in agreement. "When will he be awake?"

"Oh, I don't know, a couple hours maybe. It depends."

Hogan thanked the doctor and headed to the trap door that led to Barracks Two. He had a feeling that this would be an interesting week.

~I~

Tony was standing in an abandoned street. It was three in the morning and they still had no clue where Roger was. He was worried, to say the least. Jeannie, or Jeannie's sister, had always at least blinked Roger somewhere else in the present and if not, than he had been with either Tony or Jeannie or both. But now Roger was somewhere here, in the past, alone. Tony had no doubt that his friend was scared. Roger had never really been very brave.

Jeannie was pacing in front of him with one arm crossed over her chest and the fingers of her other hand tapping at her mouth. This mess may be all her fault—while maybe a little bit belonged to Roger and his big mouth—but at least she had the sense to blink them both in 1940s clothing. Tony was at least grateful for that.

After a few minutes, Jeannie gave an exasperated sigh. "It is no use, Anthony. I simply cannot remember on which plane I blinked Maj. Healey to."

"You've got to think harder, Jeannie. Roger could be in trouble!" Tony persisted.

Jeannie began pacing again. Then she stopped and a smile lit her face. "Oh, I remember. It was the _Helei_."

"Really, you're-you're sure?" Tony asked excitedly.

"Yes, I am sure, because _Helei_ is the original form in which his name was written. That is why I choose it."

"Well, come on then. We need to get to the air base and find that plane!"


End file.
